


menschsein

by misdre



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Reality, Gen, Horror, Open to Interpretation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-23 03:49:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2533043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misdre/pseuds/misdre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a post on the imagineyuorotp Tumblr account. "Imagine your otp meeting each other for the first time, at night, in the woods, while both trying to dispose of their freshly killed corpses."</p>
            </blockquote>





	menschsein

The heart of the nocturnal forest is veiled in deep silence, broken by nothing but the steady rustle against the underwood. Occasionally he stops, then takes another soundless step, moving like a ghost. A ghost dragging dead weight, already cold.

The moon behind the treetops is a sickly yellow hue, the forest bathes in its white light. Faint shadows creep on his feet and retreat back to the sinister woods again. Some vigilant eyes are observing him through the wilderness; an eagle owl is sitting on watch.

The young assassin skims over a maze of roots at his feet with ease. Au contraire, the corpse after him keeps bumping on them on every step, thump, thump, thump, breaking the illusion of elegant progression.

"Damn slackass", the boy grunts under his breath, slowing down to pull the body past the bulgy roots. "Making me do all the work here."

He flashes a grin at his own macabre irony, no emotion in his cold, sharp eyes whatsoever. He continues ever deeper into the woods. All he needs is find a secure place to dump the corpse to. He loathes jobs that require him to dump the waste after he’s done. What a drag.

He looks down at his razor-like nails, some dried blood packed under them. He prefers doing quick work; strike fast, give a quick death, finish early.

He stops dead in his tracks. There’s something ahead. A sound behind the trees, too systematic to be caused by an animal. The sound of something sinking heavily into the ground. Again and again. Someone is digging.

* * *

Shaking yet determined fingers keep clenching the wooden stem. His shoulders are trembling and aching, but he keeps thrusting the shovel deep into the soil. His black hair is slick with sweat, dirty with mud. Trickles of the sweat sting his eyes; he wipes his face with a shaky, filthy hand.

_It was an accident… It was an accident…_

Shove the metal deeper with a foot, lift it back up, heave soil out of the way. No matter how long he keeps digging, the hole on the ground feels deficient, it’s not wide enough, not deep enough. He needs to dig it deeper, sink the metal so deep nobody will ever find out, deep enough to reach the core of the Earth, make it swallow the corpse. The body is still warm.

_It was an accident… I didn’t mean to do it… It was an accident…_

He thrusts the shovel into the soil for the hundredth time; the metal hits something solid, the force of the blow causes the shovel to ricochet out of his blistered hands. His legs shake uncontrollably as he crouches to pick it back up, sweat and tears blurring his vision again. The handle is covered in dark red.

_Tell everyone it was an accident._

What little eerie light reaches the pit is suddenly covered with a shadow. He looks upwards, startled, curious; he meets a pair of frigid eyes staring directly into his, the eyes of a murderer.

* * *

The two stare at each other. One with hair of silver that matches the moonshine above, skin so pale it seems to illuminate ghostly light; one with ebony hair as dark as the forest, tanned body covered in dirt, dried fluids and blots of blood.

The corpse the light haired boy is holding is almost untouched, resembling a mannequin in human skin. He kills fast and avoids bloodshed, does his job neatly and leaves no evidence, a transparent killer. His blue eyes move to a figure next to the excavation. It can hardly be recognised as a human; a grotesque pile of torn flesh, severed limbs lumped together, bones sticking through; he can’t tell which part is which, nor whether there’s one corpse or several.

The darker boy stands up, still standing at the bottom of the pit he’s dug himself. His eyes are tinted with red and his body is slightly trembling, but his gaze is stable as he looks at the person standing in front of him. He smells of rotten meat.

A monster.

"My name’s Gon. Who are you?"

"… I’m Killua."


End file.
